


Closing Time

by TeaRoses



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaRoses/pseuds/TeaRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank tries to help Cynthia when he sees her in trouble after a night on the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing Time

Frank drove his pick-up truck through the dark empty streets. It was too late for him to be out, but he was grateful that stores had long hours these days and that he was finished. Braintree had kept him busy all afternoon with the plumbing – the man was doing something to the sinks and Frank wasn’t certain he wanted to know what. And then in the evening there had been a problem with those old fuses in 302 again. He had almost told Mr. Townshend to wait until the next morning but it wasn’t really fair to expect him to sit in the dark that long. So now Frank was dragging himself home past midnight with a bunch of pipe from the plumbing supply store and his groceries.

There were only a few people out but on the next block he saw a woman walking along in a short skirt and a mini-blouse. Frank was a little grateful that she was facing forward and didn’t see him looking at her. And he couldn’t help staring a little: she was gorgeous, with long legs and a curvaceous figure, and she wasn’t doing anything to cover it up either. Just as he was telling himself to stop being a pervert and keep his eyes on the road a man appeared – out of nowhere, it seemed to Frank – and started talking to her.

Frank was right next to them now, and he was pretty sure this was the same guy he’d seen lurking around his building now and then – same dirty blue coat and long blonde hair. He thought the man was homeless, and he really didn’t seem quite… right. Other tenants didn’t seem to notice him, except for Braintree who once demanded Frank go outside and tell “that filthy bum out there” to move along. That had made Frank a little angry, so he’d decided to leave the guy alone. But he wasn’t really sure he was harmless even though he’d said so at the time.

Slowing down a little, he kept watching the conversation. The woman seemed to be smiling. Maybe the guy was just asking her for spare change or something. But then suddenly he reached out and pushed her shoulders, and she stumbled backwards. Shocked, Frank pulled over a little ahead of them and reached for his cell phone to call the police. He didn’t think this was some kind of domestic argument, and even if it was he didn’t want to just sit there and watch someone get hurt.

Before he could even get the phone out of the glove compartment the woman ran up to a darkened storefront near the truck with the guy behind her. She didn’t seem to be running very well and he caught up to her and grabbed her arm. That was when Frank saw a glint of metal. The man had taken a knife out of his coat, and Frank nearly panicked when he realized the police weren’t going to get there in time even if he dialed 911.

_If you just sit here, and watch something happen to that woman, you are never going to forgive yourself._

He jumped out of the truck and grabbed a length of pipe from the back. Running toward them, he shouted, “Leave her alone.”

The man turned, facing him with the knife. Feeling a surge of fear and adrenalin, Frank hit him with the pipe, aiming at his arm so he would have to drop his weapon. He felt an odd sensation when he hit him, as if he hadn’t really connected, but then the man was running away. At the end of the block he seemed to disappear, but without turning the corner. 

Frank turned to the woman. “Are you all right, Miss? Did he cut you?”

She just stood there, swaying slightly. “He… didn’t cut me. I’m just… I’m really drunk right now, OK?”

That explained why she hadn’t been moving very fast. “You should call the police,” he said. “I’ll get my phone from my truck and—“

She shook her head and said loudly, “The last thing the police want to deal with is a drunk woman dressed like me.”

“I don’t mean to scare you, but I’ve seen that man hanging around my apartment building and I think there’s something wrong with him.” Frank didn’t mention the way he seemed to appear and disappear out of nowhere. He didn’t want this woman thinking he was crazy.

“I guess there is, since he was about to stab me,” she replied. 

“Did he say anything?”

“He just kept saying he knew me. I don’t know anyone like—“ Suddenly she doubled over. “I’m… sorry,” she muttered as she bent and threw up on the sidewalk. Almost as a reflex action Frank moved to her side and held her long hair back from her face.

“You probably don’t think much of me yourself, now,” she said when she straightened up.

Frank let go of her hair. “I’ve been drunk a time or two,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police?”

“I’m really sure,” she said, obviously working hard not to slur her words. “I just came out of the bar and there he was. Maybe he was drunk too. I’m sure I’ll never see him again.”

“At least let me give you a ride home. You can’t just walk around with him still out there, Miss.”

“My name is Cynthia,” she said. “And aren’t you worried I’ll get sick again in your truck?” 

He shrugged. “It’ll clean up.”

“I guess I can trust you,” she said, giving him an odd look with her eyes half-closed.

“I’m just an old man,” muttered Frank. “But I can call you a cab if you’d rather—“

“No, no, I’m all right,” she said, again being very loud. “But for an old man you were looking pretty badass with that pipe.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to see someone get hurt, that’s all.”

As she climbed awkwardly into his truck, she said, “I guess I should act more grateful, since you… saved my life or something here. It’s just that I’m really, really drunk. I really shouldn’t have had that many.”

“I’m not sure what I did, anyway,” said Frank when he settled down in the driver’s seat. He was thinking of the way the man had disappeared. “Where do you live?”

“Barnett Street,” she said. “Near Fifth. You know where that is?”

“Yeah, that’s not too far,” he said. 

As he started the car, she asked, “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m Frank Sunderland.”

“I’m Cynthia. Oh, I told you that. Cynthia Velasquez.”

“I used to work with a plumber named Luis Velasquez,” said Frank. “He passed about five years ago.” He wasn’t quite sure why he was attempting to make conversation with someone this drunk. And he hadn’t thought about Luis in a long time. Probably she was about to tell him that Velasquez was a very common name.

“That was my uncle,” she said. “He was a nice guy. The rest of my family… Anyway, so you’re a plumber?”

“Well, not anymore. I’m a building superintendent. You’re his niece?” Ashfield wasn’t that big a city though, so it wasn’t so odd to run into one of Luis’s relatives. Frank remembered him well. He had helped Frank get a job when he really needed one, and had taught him some Spanish words they didn’t teach you in school.

Cynthia was poking around at his grocery bags. “Yeah… he had a few brothers and one of them was my dad… You sure eat a lot of TV dinners. Aren’t you married?”

“My wife passed away a long time ago,” said Frank. 

“How long?”

“It’s been over thirty years,” said Frank after a quick mental calculation. That was a depressing thought, how long she had been gone. And they had only been married ten years. 

“That’s a long time to be alone,” said Cynthia. “And a long time to eat TV dinners.”

 _She’s right; it really is,_ thought Frank to himself, but he remained silent. 

“Can I have one of these little bottles of water to sort of … wash out the taste, you know--”

“Take one; it’s fine,” he said.

“So, do you have any kids, Frank?” she persisted.

“I had a son. He disappeared.” Frank knew he should just have told her James died, but he always hated to say that when he wasn’t really sure. 

She took a sip of water. “Disappeared?”

“In Silent Hill. It’s kind of a long story, Miss. But he never came home.”

“Cynthia. And I’m sorry to hear that. Did your son have kids?”

“No.”

“I’m usually not this nosy,” Cynthia informed him. “Except when I’m, you know--” 

“Drunk,” replied Frank. 

“Right. Can I turn on the radio?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” said Frank. 

She switched it from the oldies station Frank usually favored to something more modern and began singing along. Frank thought to himself that she actually had a very sweet voice.

“ _You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here._ I love this song. You like it? It’s called ‘Closing Time’” she said.

“It’s not bad,” said Frank. He meant it sincerely, though he probably would have said it anyway as there was no point in disagreeing with someone in that state.  
“What kind of music do you like?” she asked.

“Well… I like Elvis,” he replied.

“Elvis. That’s cute,” she said. “So how come you never got married again, Frank? You seem pretty nice, and you’re not bad-looking for an old guy.”

“I don’t get out much,” said Frank, though that wasn’t exactly an explanation. “And I’m very shy.” That was too much honesty, probably, and Frank had no excuse for it since he was completely sober. He wondered if he should be insulted at her calling him an old guy. But he was old; there was no getting around that.

“Aw, hey, I’m sure there’s some woman out there who would appreciate a guy like you to, you know, hit people with a pipe for her and stuff.”

Frank had nothing to say to that. When he got to Barnett Street Cynthia gave her address and he stopped in front of her apartment building. 

“I bet when I wake up in the morning I’m going to feel bad and say ‘Hey, that Frank guy saved my life and I was too drunk to really say thank you.’”

“When you wake up in the morning you’ll probably feel bad for better reasons than that,” he replied.

“Well, I don’t get really hung over. Just a little headache and I don’t feel like eating much. But I don’t drink that much so often, believe it or not. You don’t believe me, do you?”

Frank actually did believe her, since she kept repeating how drunk she was over and over. But he just took his wallet out of his pocket and handed her one of his business cards. “Listen, you should call me.”

“I thought you were shy, Frank,” she said with a little laugh.

“No, not for-- I meant if you want to make a police report.”

“I don’t think that guy will bother me again. He’s probably scared of you, now.”

“I’m serious, Miss—“

“Cynthia,” she reminded him. To his shock she leaned over and gave him a sloppy kiss on the mouth. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be all right. But hey, I’ll keep your card. You never know. Good night!”

She hopped out the truck and Frank watched while she walked to her apartment building. After she got the door open she turned to wave at him and he waved back. He was sure she wasn’t going to report that guy, and it bothered him, especially since he had a bad feeling about him. If Frank saw him at the building he resolved to call the police himself. 

He was also sure he’d never see Luis’s niece Cynthia again. But for now he turned the truck toward home. It was way past time for his TV dinner and sleep.


End file.
